Life Changing
by Rianne
Summary: Take a journey back to San Francisco to where it all began.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** My Name is Rianne and I am a CSI addict (what do you mean, not that kind of disclaimer?)

**Author Notes:** I have been feeling the urge lately to try out different things! This is my first Pre-CSI story! Hides behind computer as she waits to hear how it is received!

I know this idea has been often played with, so hopefully this is not too cliché.

This was originally inspired by the sweetest little place I saw on a holiday to Tenerife, way back in 2009 when I started writing this story! Stupid me forgot to find out the name of it, so I can't suggest it to travellers! Anyway, for the record I have never been to America, let alone San Francisco, so I have no idea if what I have planned for them is even geographically feasible within that city… but as it is a story I'm going with my heart! The story has become longer than I expected, so it is now multi-chapter.

I thought I would release the first chapter for you all to enjoy, Happy Valentines!x

Life Changing.

By Rianne.

_Chapter One._

It was out of control.

He had never intended it to be.

He had somehow got away from himself.

Away from that shy, lurking part of his personality that floundered embarrassed and out of his depth outside the boundaries of science and lecturing and the things he knew.

His defences were down.

He could blame that on being out of Las Vegas, and that temptation filled vacation feel that San Francisco and its different kind of sunshine held for him.

Or he could try and blame it on the reawakened enjoyment he was feeling at being the teacher again, at having all those interested and impressionable students listening to his every word, or maybe not his every word, not all of them, he was a lot more realistic than that. He had looked up to some pretty bored faces over the last few days and even some closed eyelids and almost imperceptible snores.

Or maybe it was as simple as the fresher clearer air that was roaring off the San Francisco Bay… folks of days past had sworn that the sea air was good for the constitution.

He could blame anything he liked he was still here.

Waiting.

And wondering.

Wondering if he shouldn't be wondering more about the rapidity of his acceptance to go through with this.

At his unforeseen willingness to step into this new, uncomfortable, somewhat risky situation.

But he only found himself wondering about the woman behind the question.

"Would you like to… to go get something to eat… with me…? Would you like to have dinner with me?"

About her motives.

And about his, as he questioned if the intentions were the same on both sides.

About the bravado in her grin and yet the frightened flicker in her eyes.

The urges in him were there, unspoken but surprisingly strong.

He could have been wrong, but it certainly felt like there were temptations offered and wanted.

He shouldn't be here.

This was against every moral code he held true to as professor, educator, as a gentleman.

But even he could not deny that his intentions here were not as pure and as saintly as they should be.

He didn't want to be here as any of those three previously mentioned personas.

He wanted to be here as a man.

Had the unaccustomed urge to be seen for who he was, the genuine person and not the label he represented to the world.

No not an urge, a longing.

An ache to be known, just once.

There was the feel of holiday romance about it all.

Flirty, carefree, sweet.

And young.

Something he hadn't felt since he had spent that long, lazy summer with his aunt in his late teens and had been fascinated by the girl at the local bookstore, the girl who had smiled shyly at him and blushed when their fingers brushed as she returned his change.

There was a certain thrill of freedom about it.

He could be himself without any preconceived notions. She had no real prior knowledge beyond his being a professor of entomology. She didn't know his colleagues called him 'Gruesome Grissom', when they thought he couldn't hear them.

She knew nothing of his lonely existence, his solitary apartment, his working all the hours night-time sent.

All that wasn't an issue here.

There were instead new ideas.

New possibilities.

She seemed to genuinely share his interest in learning.

He was only here for three more days.

How much trouble could one little meeting cause?

What happens in San Francisco, stays in San Francisco?

He should know better.

He knew he should.

He knew what the Vegas version of those words could lead to. He had processed the leftovers, the murder, date rape, robbery, adultery, jail time, the bankruptcy…

But he didn't want to listen to that.

He wanted the innocence back.

And innocence exuded from her every pore.

And boy was he was drawn.

He had been rendered completely shell shocked by her first question.

Her voice different to what he expected, lower and older than her earnest expression and her words were even more so.

He had felt his jaw drop.

Had heard a rumble of surprise ripple around the auditorium.

Had felt the smugness in the assembled at one of them being able to stump the expert.

But she hadn't flinched, hadn't acted like she had stumbled into a huge faux pas, she had genuinely wanted to know.

And he, untrue to form had fumbled like the teenager who had not known how to talk to the shy pretty girl in the Rhode Island bookstore.

Yet she had acted as if she hadn't noticed.

Her attentive eyes and brain fixed on him as a knowledge source, almost as if they were the only two in the room.

And by the time he had managed to scrounge up an answer another question had been aimed right back at him.

Volleyed with ease.

And another until he had unwillingly apologised and suggested that they should all go get something for lunch as the next class was pressing their noses at the windows.

Yet she had approached him as the others had fled, disappearing relieved and hungry.

And the questions had continued.

The closer physical proximity fazing his brain.

The electric sparring had taken him completely by surprise.

How long since he had been that affected by any woman?

But watching her walk away at the end of the first lecture he had dismissed the spark.

His self-protective instincts had forced him to.

Had reminded him that it was most likely one-sided anyway.

Convinced himself to consider it a complete fluke.

At the most she might be a cute co-ed with a crush on her professor. He wasn't immodest, but it wasn't the first time.

But by the third class, the third day that week ending with her approaching him, not quite cautiously, but with a sense about her that she didn't want to be a bother, but she just _had_ to know the answers to the things that she found perplexing, like she wouldn't be able to sleep without knowing.

And he had been more than willing to oblige her curiosity, hiding beneath the thinly veiled guise of educator, but he had not been prepared for the interest to develop.

A single feeling to take wing and rise.

Fluttering about in the quiet within him.

It had left him a bit stunned, he couldn't figure it out and so he carried on regardless of the vague warnings from his conscience, and despite his qualms that there was a tension building, and building rapidly, surprisingly over just the space of a few days.

Interest sparking from afar across the vastness of the lecture theatre.

He was painfully aware of her, the rapt attention she focused on him.

Knew without looking up where she had chosen to sit within the room at large.

And pretended hard that he wasn't affected.

Trying to dismiss all suggestions of a like mind and yet he was surprised over and over when she stole the words right out of his mouth.

He rarely met anyone who could match him in passion and intrigue.

And they certainly did not appear daily to challenge him in jeans and a t-shirt.

These were the best lectures he had ever given, he found himself striving to impress.

To impress her, and he didn't like to examine that too closely. He was afraid to.

And instead of ebbing as he had expected her interest too, this tension, it was getting stronger as she continued to approach the podium at the end of lectures instead of filtering out and back to her life as the other students did.

And today that fluttering inside him had smouldered into what could only be described as a warm licking flame.

Today had been different, she had seemed different, there had been a touch of a different kind of nervous tension between them as she had not even smiled in greeting before she had been instantly bombarding him with more questions. What could only have been described as a faint blush lighting her cheeks and a flustered ramble to her words. She had barely stopped for breath.

The questions of the past few days had been slow to build, starting simpler and through his answers spiralling up into realms of more complexity.

But something had been off today.

Made inherently curious by this new unknown fathom to her he had clumsily thrown out the suggestion of coffee. Wishing to calm her, maybe coffee had been the wrong beverage, relax her, stop her from fretting so.

His question had halted her mid-word.

Deep chocolate eyes had grown wide and questioning as her face had finally tilted up to meet his gaze.

The blush across the arch of her cheekbones had deepened and he might never admit it out loud, but her reaction had boosted the confidence of a man who had long since given up on the idea of a young woman finding him 'interesting…'

Even he couldn't hide from the obvious attraction burgeoning between them.

And from that single suggestion of his had come something fascinating and undeniable, something he didn't want to spoil by placing a name too, something which defied words, which intensely haloed their rapid give and take exchanges across the coffee shop table he had walked with her to in a blur.

It had ignited something.

Something in him that had only been mildly nudged before.

Something in him that he had presumed was to be left unexplored.

Something wanting.

Something missing.

It was brand new and as if he had known her forever.

She was young enough to be familiar with ease, had a defiant confidence only found in youth.

She had an intelligence that had left even him speechless.

A sharp alert mind that despite age challenged his, turned everything on its head.

He had been wrong to brand her on first blush, that was for certain.

Ashamed that he had labelled her young, from her ponytail with soft tendrils escaping, refusing to be restrained just like her mind, through her shapeless figure hiding t-shirt, down to the trailing jeans she had worn that first lecture, had labelled her far too innocent and doe eyed to be smart enough for his class.

And however dishevelled her appearance, lets face it, she had seemed far, far too pretty to wish to spend her time indoors with a bunch of socially awkward men and women, discussing insects and graphic depictions of crime scenes.

But it had been more than that.

More than just a flare of lust, or a physical interest.

Her whole being had set him alert.

She defied his skills of investigation.

Didn't fit neatly into his carefully categorised compartments.

If it was possible, he actually liked her even more for that.

For proving him wrong.

He needed to listen to what he preached. He was such a hypocrite. His whole lecture series had been based upon the premise that if the evidence changed so must the theory.

And this, this was all theories out of the window.

But he could do this, tempt himself beyond all reasonable thought, and still keep his all-important boundaries in place, still hold back.

He was sure of it. He could do that. He had too.

He looked down at his shoes. The empty cement sidewalk beneath him.

She was late.

Maybe she wasn't coming…

Maybe she had come to her senses.

She was probably amused as all get out to think about him waiting here alone for her half the night.

Poor weird socially backward scientist guy.

It was the truth in a way that didn't even sting him.

Not anymore.

He knew that was the way he presented himself.

It kept others out.

Kept the quiet solitude for him to concentrate on his studies, on his experiments, on his theories and puzzles.

This was a step outside himself.

He had to look strange waiting here.

Waiting alone just across the street from the secluded off campus coffee establishment that they had shared their invigorating conversation in that morning.

He avoided looking at his watch.

Maybe it had all been a game for her.

A bet or something more, an embarrassing scheme perhaps, a shameless attempt to smile pretty at the teacher, ask him out and maybe he'd give her an A.

But he didn't want to believe that.

He had been the focus of that kind of attention before, and thankfully after the first brutal school girl ambush circa 1970 had been naturally perceptive and wounded just enough to pre-empt such behaviours.

Those first attempted manipulations had come from simpering, scheming and devious females, the kind of girls who used to have him on his knees in high school, the ones he would have sunk to nothing for had they deemed him worthy enough to speak to, had they asked him to do their homework, as truly none of them would have found anything else of interest in him and eventually he had realised that they held no interest for him either.

And they had served him in good stead, once bitten a million times shy.

None of those women had been like Sara.

With Sara it felt different, like her interest had everything to do with his intelligence and about who he was, in equal measures. There had been laughter, freeing and comfortable. Waving in and out of a conversation that had ranged far and wide.

It could also have something to do with the fact that she couldn't have been born until the late sixties, if not the seventies.

Yet intelligence was their bridge.

As the coffee had all been consumed, the ceramic mugs so long empty that the pottery had cooled, she had started to shift in her seat, uncomfortable again as she had been before he had rescued her in the empty lecture theatre.

He sensed she had something to say, but the next question she had asked had been as unexpected as it was secretly pined for.

She had asked him out to dinner.

It was something in her eyes.

That had been what made her different from all the other women who had asked him that kind of question.

Such dark eyes.

Beseeching, lost, sad.

Lonely and yearning.

For what he couldn't be completely sure.

Attention, praise, education, knowledge, affection?

Yet as unfathomable as that expression was, that look was something he understood.

Something that grounded within him when their eyes met.

And more than that, it was the way she tried to hide it.

The way she stood taller than she should need to for her years.

The strength in her posture, the clear way she spoke, the intense way she absorbed.

He couldn't seem to stop watching her.

Taking her in.

The way she had sat mildly rigid as they had shared coffee, as if allowing herself to fidget would have given away more than she wanted too.

Like it or not she was his latest puzzle.

He liked puzzles.

And obsessive and unhealthy as that sounded he was ignoring the bleat of alarm bells.

He was a grown man. He could make decisions by himself.

He could make mistakes and if he didn't at least try he would be on his way back to Vegas kicking himself for his cowardice and plagued by his inability to let puzzles get away from him.

No. He would give her ten more minutes.

What else did he have awaiting him this evening?

An empty hotel room?

He fought the urge to check his watch again.

She couldn't be lost, or too far away.

It was her city, he had let her choose the place and the time.

He was a gentleman after all.

Had even made sure to leave the hotel early to make sure that he could find this place again.

He had showered, changed his clothes, shaved.

Avoided the word 'date' as it had tried to infiltrate its way into his head.

He had made the effort so far. Ten more minutes couldn't hurt.

And it wasn't like he had plans more impressive than room service or sitting alone at a restaurant.

Then he saw her, hurrying along towards the coffee bar.

Too far away for her to have noticed him yet, her attention fixated on the ground as her surprisingly long strides propelled her forwards, her brow creased with the consternation of someone regrettably late, and apologetic.

Someone formulating explanations or excuses.

Always thinking.

He just stared.

She had come.

Watched as she came to a halt across from him.

Watched as her gaze swept from side to side searching, but for whatever reason she never looked up and forward to where he watched.

He felt a slow smile spread as she instinctively checked her wrist for the time even though her wrist was empty tonight of the heavy timepiece she had worn earlier.

He watched the breath she took slide through her before she settled back, stepping under the overhang of the building as to not be as conspicuous in her waiting.

He couldn't take his eyes from her.

She looked beautiful.

The dying early evening light dappled over her skin.

No more jeans.

This evening the bay breeze rippled the pale fabric of her dress.

It was dated and ill fitting and definitely inexpensive.

And he realised suddenly that it may quite possibly the nicest dress she owned.

She had dressed up for him.

It set off a new ache inside him.

He had to be wary here.

And not just for himself.

He could see in her the uncertainty he had noted before.

The way she stood, the ease forced. Leaning back against the diner window, attempting to look calm and slightly disgruntled at being made to wait.

Yet the tapping of her foot told.

Revealed anxiety and nervousness and depth beyond the external.

She wasn't sure that he would come either.

She had asked the question.

The words tumbling unrestrained from her on the downward ebbing breeze of delighted laughter.

Spur of the moment and out of her control the minute they had stumbled from her lips.

"Would you like to… to go get something to eat… with me…? Would you like to have dinner with me?"

He could still hear the happy chuckle that had preceded the question, and he could still see the sudden wave of surprise and mild horror as the combination of syllables had registered upon her.

Watched as their ramifications and meaning had settled upon her.

Felt exactly the same way as they filtered into his own mind.

And then he had been saying yes, as quickly as he could before she could take them back, brush them off, the thrill that she was feeling as good about their synchronicity as pleasurable to him as she was.

And there had been no thought of consequences inside him.

Just the warm gut feeling of a decision rightly made.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: If Sara and Grissom hadn't met in San Francisco back in 1999 CSI today might never have existed!

**Author Notes**: I've been playing around with this – I realised that a lot of what I thought I knew about pre-CSI was actually from the stories of others, and that the TV show has given a storyline in snippets since those were written, so I hope this all still makes sense. I also had the terrible epiphany whilst working out their ages at the time of this fic – I'm already older than Sara in this story! The Horror! I did a little research into the American Forensic Academy and according to their website their conferences were at University campus locations throughout the US and even in London, so I am setting this at Berkeley where we know Sara went.

All other research comes from DK guides to San Fran and Google Maps and Street map – I was able to 'stand' on the Golden Gate Bridge which I will admit freaked me out just a little!

Thank you to everyone who took a chance on reading something different from me!

**Life Changing.**

By Rianne.

_Chapter Two._

She still hadn't noticed that he was already there.

She continued to waver on the spot, looking distracted, fidgeting with the strap on her purse. He could almost imagine what she was thinking, anxious thoughts about missing him by being slightly late, or that he was rude and even later than her, or the worst case scenario, that she had been stood up altogether.

He considered calling out to her, but didn't, knowing that the ebbing sounds of the street would wash away his words and draw the attention of strangers to their already nervous meeting.

What was his rehearsed opening line again? Too many thoughts seemed to have chased the words right from his brain.

Around him it was still vibrant and busy along Telegraph Avenue despite the advancing time of day.

The warm early evening Californian summer air enticing people out onto the streets.

Night classes at the University, and lectures still taking place at the Palaeontology museum had pedestrians passing as steady streams in both directions.

Sara's figure was silhouetted against a window of the cafe from earlier, and inside the atmosphere was still buzzing, crowded with people having after class cups and pre-all-nighter lighter fuel espressos. The newspaper crowd now replaced by groups engaged in stimulating conversations that rose and fell as the door opened and shut with the jingle of a bell.

Decibels spilled out into the street a few hundred yards away, tumbling from a brightly decorated independent music store, beside him the wares of a t-shirt stall flapped in the breeze, and on the corner across from him a young guy was playing an unfamiliar song accompanied by his staccato guitar, but he was ashamed to say that he couldn't have told you if it was a popular record or an original composition.

And not for the first time he wondered again what he was doing there.

He was here to have a nice evening, a meal and good conversation, that was the most favourable plan, although it seemed his companion for the evening was determined to look everywhere in the street, but across at him.

It was oddly amusing that she hadn't seen him waiting there. He must stand out like a sore thumb in this rapid, colourful place.

Hardly camouflaged in his crisp sturdy Chino's, dress shoes and sedate dark blue polo shirt. His motionless sentry fluidly encircled by experimenting undergrads with a spectrum of hair and clothing in every style, cut and colour.

He wondered if his expression gave away his feeling more than little lost in the face of the youth surrounding him and to make allowances he worked to govern his features into something resembling a relaxed smile.

This entire city a place of laid back ease, permeated with intelligence, free spirit and experience.

He took a slow breath and tried to keep that ethos in mind.

But honestly he couldn't have shouted boring Professor any louder if he still wore his lecture nametag and carried a portable lectern, or if he had one of the street sellers graffiti 'Doctor, that's spelt PHD', on a T-shirt for him.

But these were the only clothes he had brought with him.

A sojourn into the world outside academia hadn't even crossed his mind as he had hurriedly packed for the trip.

These clothes, more formal than he usually wore on days off work, were just right for the faculty meetings or an airport bar lounge, yet just so wrong here.

But at least his little amount of effort, clean shaven face and change of clothes, was more in keeping with the effort she had made.

Her hair was loose, lifting in the breeze.

Her light dress fluttering against her thighs.

Her feet clad in delicate sandals.

He checked his watch again.

And now he was late, the big hand had just ticked past seven o'clock.

He didn't like to be late.

Waiting just made all involved nervous.

Huffing out a preparative breath his feet took charge.

He stepped around the line of parked cars.

Eyes travelling down the one way street, to make sure it was free from oncoming traffic before he crossed towards her, attention now solely focused on her lightly swaying figure.

Smile ready he switched on the charm.

"Sara!"

Her gaze rushed up from the sidewalk, taken by surprise by his abrupt arrival, and so her response was ungoverned too.

Her smile unrestrained, rising until her eyes glimmered with it, and all he was going to say was suddenly gone.

"Hi!" She sounded relieved, "I thought I'd missed you. I'm so sorry I'm late! This afternoon got away from me, and I..."

He held his hands up to slow her, smile widening. She was fluttering again.

There was just something so very lovely about her.

And once more the sight of her was accompanied by a lightness in his chest, something which had risen up at seeing her again this evening.

He felt giddy which was an almost unnatural feeling for him.

He felt happy and refreshed.

"Don't worry about it, I was on the last minute too," he soothed, cutting into her fluster.

A little white lie, but she didn't need to know that he had practically grown roots watching her from afar.

Her face dipped again and she concentrated on her toes, moving them in her sandals.

He'd embarrassed her, not a good start.

He wasn't sure what made her so fluttery around him, or even if he was the cause of her nervousness, but she seemed unable to stop talking around him, and he wondered a moment if she was like this all the time. Careering about at this high speed.

She was so alive, always in constant fluid motion; and he was unprepared for the pang he felt at that realisation.

She wouldn't want to be held down by someone as rigid as he.

He wasn't supposed to be thinking about things like that.

He was not allowed too.

"We're here now," he threw out with a shrug, trying motion to get her to look at him again, and it worked.

Her face lifted and she nodded, looking oddly thankful and one hundred percent aware of her over talking.

She was blushing.

A small awkward smile appeared to grace her features.

She was waiting for him to say something, and when he didn't she resettled her bag on her shoulder, slim fingers curling nervously around the strap.

There was a moment of tension filled silence.

Should he tell her she looked nice?

He was trying hard to stop his eyes darting about her face, noticing that she looked more than nice; in fact she looked very pretty, especially with her loose hair curled naturally like that.

But it was probably wholly inappropriate; this wasn't a date after all, merely a meeting between student and professor.

See, little white lies all round tonight!

But before he could break through the tension and embarrass himself further by revealing his prattling thoughts, several people came tumbling out of the coffee shop, accompanied by a trill of the little bell above the door and a heated sounding argument about the ethical dilemmas of something he couldn't catch, causing him to take an instinctive step closer to her to create space for them to pass.

Her soft hair smelt of sweet jasmine.

Her shoulder brushed his chest.

He felt the breath she took.

And then the sidewalk was all theirs again and he took a reluctant step back, whispering, "Sorry."

She tilted her face up to his and threw him a quick shy sideways smile.

"So," she cleared her throat, "did you have an idea about where you'd like to eat?"

He had spent a full fifteen minutes intensely questioning the hotel concierge about places to go so that he could have place names on hand, but as she had been the one to invite him he thought it only right that she should have the final say if she had ideas.

"I'm open to suggestion?"

She smirked at that, squinting her eyes.

"Alright, I know a place with good Sushi?"

"Sounds good, lead the way."

He gallantly let her step ahead of him and start along the road.

And the change in location seemed to clear the air.

She was talking rapidly again, and all he could think was that it was nice to just walk beside her, even if he had to lengthen his gait in attempt to keep pace with her forward strides.

And listening to her speak, he simply marvelled at how she always seemed so enthusiastic whatever her topic.

The restaurant wasn't far, she took a left at the next junction and they were there.

"It doesn't look much of a place, but the food is good and there's garden seating. It should be pretty quiet on a weeknight too."

And she was right, the place was a good choice, they were lead to a small secluded table at the back of the garden, nothing too fancy, nothing too romantic, it took the pressure off.

He didn't even have to pull out her seat for her; before he could consider it she was already seated, and looking at the menu.

So he slid into his own place, across the table from her, and took up his own menu.

"So, what's good?"

Instead of speaking she reached out and flattened his menu between them on the table, and even though the writing was upside down to her she distractedly tapped at a couple of the dishes with a slim well manicured finger, before letting it spring back up to him, continuing with her own decision.

He raised a brow, unseen by her and wondered at her easy informality, curiously considering if she was using it to disguise the fact that she didn't want to look foolish by getting the verbalization of the dish names wrong.

Yet, when the waiter reappeared her Japanese pronunciation was perfect.

He should have expected no less.

Still feeling slightly uncomfortable and overly aware of himself he watched the waiter's expression with interest.

But the young man didn't bat an eyelid when he took their order.

He didn't examine the pair of them, or question what they were doing there together.

He was calm and quick and vanished in a matter of moments, unconcerned by the strange man with the tense demeanour and the young woman who was restlessly rearranging the items on the table until she found their perfect alignment.

To the world at large they were just two people. Eating in a restaurant, ordinary, normal, simple.

Other people didn't see her as young. Or even consider him as old.

And they just did not care what they were doing together.

It was just his own issue, clearly.

He took a long sip of his cold beer, gaze stroking over her animated face as she read the label on her own bottle.

It was a strange moment of out of body contemplation for him.

To him this night was such a change in pace, such a step outside his routine.

A huge deal.

And yet to others it was nothing.

It shouldn't bother him so much.

He should just let it go for one night.

But it still ticked there at the back of his brain.

And the one thing which bothered him the most was that he just couldn't place her actual age, and that really bugged him, made him afraid that in the face of his own ever advancing years he was beginning to loose the clarity he had possessed in his youth to gauge a woman's age correctly.

Her intellect, her voice, the way she spoke seemed to be in complete contrast to the sweetness in her manner, her nervous blushing, her shyness.

"So, how did you find this place?" He asked, coaxing her to look up from her menu.

"We used to come here for takeout when we had survived Professor Stevenson's 6pm class on particle fusion," she rolled her eyes. "The Nigiri mix was the perfect reward,"

"You don't come anymore?"

"Not as often," she looked wistful, "most of my friends moved on after we graduated. For a while a Graduate Degree was actually worth something in the job market."

She had a Graduate Degree?

He had not expected that.

He took a moment to swallow his beer.

He tried to keep his face neutral, but she noticed immediately.

"What? You thought I was still a student?"

She knew the answer to that, it was written across her face.

Crap, he had offended her.

And of course she wasn't the kind of woman to take his surprise as a compliment on her youthfulness.

He panicked, and he could feel the heat flush his cheeks.

His PhD always failed him in moments like this.

He should have studied human interactions and conversation patterns and not bugs.

He didn't know what to say to fix this.

But before he could fumble a reply, or carefully apologise, he was interrupted by their waiter arriving with two steaming bowls of Miso soup.

At least the disruption gave him a moment to word his many questions.

But as soon as the young man had turned his back, she had commandeered the conversation.

And as glad as he was for the topic shift he had barely been able to breathe in a waft of the food, before her question about insect timelines had derailed his thoughts completely.

Forensics, the one topic he could talk about with confidence.

He tried to keep his exposition clear, not simplifying anything, as she obviously did not need such a consideration, but explaining it in a way that he hoped made sense to an outsider to the Entomology world.

And her questions came again and again; right now her interest was focused back on his first lecture, "Double Murder in a Garage."

His original title had been wittier, but the humourless faculty secretary had frowned at his suggestion and he had quickly given the bland replacement.

Her mind continued to amaze him, her overflowing curiosity, she was always thinking, expanding on earlier thoughts, asking about things that she had touched on briefly at their earlier meeting in the coffee shop, but she had clearly taken his past answers away with her and had formulated yet further queries.

Wanting to know what positions he had found the bodies in, what state of decomposition, how the discovery of the beetles had caused him to re-evaluate the entire scenario, leading them away from their theory of murder/suicide to the actual killer.

She was watching him so intently, her chin propped on her palm, her elbow on the table.

Dark eyes fixated. Almost too eager to hear all the gory details.

It was extremely flattering to have such unadulterated attention from someone else.

He was so engrossed in his story that he had forgotten to eat his soup and it was nearly cold before he had taken his first spoonful, but she was right, it was good.

There was a small spell of silence as he ate, and when he looked up at her again she was biting her lip, mirth glinting in her eyes.

"What?" he wiped his mouth with his fingertips, but she wasn't laughing about his eating habits.

She was looking behind him, eyes darting from him to whatever amused her so, silently encouraging him to look too.

He crinkled his eyes in query, but again she subtly insisted he look behind him.

So keeping his eye on her until the very last moment, he discretely turned his head to look.

Across the garden their waiter was trapped, the unfortunate recipient of a heated berating from the couple who had been seated at the table behind theirs.

A very revolted looking older couple who were glaring daggers at he and Sara.

Obviously not as enthralled about overhearing their less than suitable dinner conversation.

He cleared his throat, to hide his own amusement, turning back to his dinner companion, eyes wide and laughter rippling just below the surface.

The glee in her eyes was wonderful to see.

She was biting her lip.

Her breaths quick and through her nose, as opening her mouth to let in air would allow the mirth to erupt.

Restraining the amusement ebbing through her was making her muscles quiver.

She looked like she was vibrating, and that set him off too. He had to flatten his palms against the table and take a deep breath as he listened to the woman behind him call him a 'very disturbed young man.'

He let his mouth twist into a grimace as he mouthed 'very disturbed' at Sara, nodding like a disgruntled psychiatrist and watched as a single tear of laughter made a break for it, escaping down the soft curve her cheek.

She discretely used the back of her thumb to chase it away.

And they shared a wonderful moment of snickering, unified amusement and clear understanding.

Infuriated the couple noisily left, leaving the restaurant staff to brush off their remarks and return to work.

He made a mental note to leave their waiter an impressive apology tip.

Poor guy, but for the opportunity to share the last few moments with Sara he would eagerly freak out everyone over the age of 60 in a hundred mile radius.

"That's quite a talent we have," She looked at him, calmer now able to relax and breathe normally again but her smirk remained. "We'd be a dieter's best friend; we could clear a restaurant in twenty minutes or less, put a place like this out of business!"

He couldn't imagine that there were many women out there in the world who would find this conversation not only interesting but amusing too.

It was an extremely unusual combination, most people viewed him the very same way that the infuriated couple had done.

Although with that in mind, that put Sara into the strange category, and really, her intense interest was rather odd.

The rest of her behaviour seemed pretty normal, she had no crazy tweaks, and he was trained to look for those things.

She certainly didn't fit the bill of a serial killer, so it was puzzling how intrigued she was by the details of one.

It didn't seem like she was only talking about his lecture because she was grasping for conversation topics.

Time to bring out the big questions.

"So, if you studied physics, may I ask why you are taking my lecture?"

She tilted a brow at him, making him wait whilst she swallowed a spoonful of soup.

"You aren't taking notes on how to be a serial killer are you?"

The soup nearly came out of her nose, and his eyes grew wide as she spluttered.

Trying his best to look apologetic, and not to laugh, he occupied himself by offering her a napkin.

"You should know that the incidence of female serial killers is extremely rare," She retorted when all her faculties returned. "As a gender we're actually bigger fans of poisoning, quieter than full blooded violence."

He had to smile at that, she even had a quick comeback when there was soup in unfortunate places.

And thinking about it, his gaze dropped to his nearly empty bowl, considering the ease with which she could have poisoned it.

She suggested the place, could be in league with the waiters and kitchen staff, and could have paid the couple to cause a disruption so she could slip him something!

Man, that would be the best student prank for a while, poisoning the professor, she'd be famous!

His thoughts must have been clear in his expression.

"I'm not a serial killer!" Her words rushed out on a girlish laugh.

She paused again, keeping him in the beam of her stare and he wondered if she was taunting him on purpose.

Probably to get him back for the soup spluttering question.

She was studied him, and she didn't even bother to hold back her grin of delight, evidently enjoying that he couldn't puzzle her out.

And he had to wonder how she saw him, what she thought of him, of this evening and their burgeoning... friendship?

But eventually she took pity on him, "I'm here for the Continuing Education programme. I'm a CSI in the San Francisco Lab."

Her voice trailed off as she took in what he knew must be a stunned expression.

"I thought you knew that?"

Clearly he did not.

His mind felt blank.

Before a chaos of thoughts broke free.

It explained so much, especially the level of interest she had in what he was teaching.

She was a trained expert.

He wasn't handling this well.

He was still opening and closing his mouth gormlessly.

She had singlehandedly knocked him right out of the park.

Again.

He was reeling.

Kicking himself on the inside.

With one sentence everything had changed.

She was a CSI too.

And instantly the playing field was levelled.

No wonder she was so smart, so confident in her intelligence.

He had done it again.

He had assumed without gathering all the evidence first.

And to think that he had actually momentarily considered if she was old enough to drink.

He was beginning to wonder if he would ever completely work her out.

This wonderful creature before him kept metamorphosing with every revelation.

She threw his radar off with every movement and all he could do was keep piecing all the fragments together and ask as many questions as she did.

So he picked out one of the many he had at random.

"So did you do your undergraduate degree here too?"

He could easily imagine her at Berkeley, protesting on the streets, alive and empowered with the Power to the People, forcefully debating the merits of animal rights, the necessity of preserving the trees, her spirit would have fit right in with the hippy vibe of the place. Berzerkely they had called it in his years as a student, echoing back to the 60's and all the tear gas protests which had lined the very streets they ate on right now.

There was something in the way she held herself, the curve of her spine and the lazy sway of her walk, soothing and relaxing, both a complete contrast to the sharp intelligence with which she spoke.

She would be a formidable and deceptive opponent in any argument that she sought to win.

Yet, something about his question gave her pause, and he wondered why his query had made her uncomfortable, her behaviour only made him even more curious.

"No," she bit her lip reluctantly.

He took another sip of chilled beer, which made his teeth ache after the heat of the soup.

"Harvard," she added quietly, as if it was nothing, picking up her own drink to avoid looking at him.

Harvard.

Damn.

Well that put him in the shade. His PHD in Biology was from UCLA, a good school, but it was no Harvard.

And she knew his credentials; they were clearly typed on the promotional materials handed to all students who took his class.

Harvard.

He tried not to let on how impressed he was, and could tell by her embarrassed eye roll that she didn't believe his indifference for a moment.

She shrugged, creasing up her forehead, still making light.

"I graduated high school early, went to college on an academic scholarship the month I turned seventeen."

A Harvard scholarship on early acceptance no less.

Her soup was suddenly very intriguing to her, and he found himself adding, extremely modest to his list of garnered knowledge of Sara Sidle.

She spiralled her spoon in cyclical patterns through her nearly empty soup bowl.

He watched the way her slender wrist moved as she stirred. A gentle but restless soul.

She looked up from her bowl, and her lips pursed as she studied him a moment.

"I'm twenty-six now. Will that get rid of the crease between your eyebrows?"

Before he could wonder what she was doing she had reached out and pressed against his forehead, her gentle fingertip making contact with his skin for a mere split second, but the indent vanished instantly.

And his heart did a funny flip inside his chest.

She was touching him.

His hand distractedly replaced her touch, before he could stop himself, as if he meant to hide the evidence, mouth falling open at her wonderful direct way of speaking and the free way she touched him.

She bit her lip so as not to laugh, "I didn't want you to get permanent wrinkles from frowning so hard."

Right on the money with a horribly accurate aim.

She knew exactly what he was thinking.

He dipped his head in mock shame, admitting defeat.

They were flirting.

They weren't supposed to be flirting.

She wasn't supposed to read his mind the way she uncannily could either.

Yet, something had clicked inside him at the knowledge that she wasn't what he thought.

The evidence had changed and so must all this theories.

She was a CSI.

This shouldn't change everything, but it did.

She couldn't know that. She couldn't know that he had almost chickened out of coming tonight because of his multitude of insecurities and misguided standards.

He needed to keep talking, keep the evening moving.

Pretend you knew all along.

Say something. She revealed, reveal about yourself!

"I went to college early too!" he heard himself blurt. His voice just an edge too loud, causing her gaze to jerk up to meet his.

"Started advanced classes at sixteen and got my PHD at twenty-two." He carried on in a meeker tone, trying to explain away his outburst. But it came out wrong.

Great, now he sounded like he was showing off, when she had talked of her achievements with such modesty.

He had just wanted to let her know that they were similar, pleased to find something else in common between them.

But she simply nodded in response, calm and accepting.

"How long have you worked for the San Francisco crime lab?" He was still trying to get the numbers straight in his head.

"Nearly four years," she replied, looking past him as their waiter arrived with two large plates of sushi and California rolls. "I'm a CSI Level 2."

He made space for the delivery on the table.

She was a CSI level 2, only one level below him, and undoubtedly would catch him up in a matter of months.

"So you worked with Dr. Taylor? He was the Coroner there until '96?"

"Dr Drew! Yes, he retired my second year. A good man."

She sounded pleased to learn they had a mutual acquaintance.

"Interesting sense of humour, though."

Oh, that he had to agree with, hiding in a morgue draw to scare new students had straddled the fine line between amusing and deranged.

And then it was so very clear, and out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"He got you with the morgue draw joke!"

He sounded way too gleeful, and she looked like she wanted to snap off the finger he had pointed at her, so he lowered it before she had the chance.

Her brows furrowed, and her glimmering eyes and generous mouth widened in mock offense, and then she pouted, wrinkling her nose.

His grin was broad, "Ahh, well he got the best of us!"

She did laugh then, "No way! He did not get you too?"

He tilted his head in admittance, shrugging his shoulders.

Oddly pleased that they had something as obscure as that in common too.

He sampled his first roll, finding it as good as she had claimed.

"So," she kept the conversation flowing effortlessly, "Why Entomology?"

Well, that was a question he could answer, words rose up and he became the one that couldn't stop talking all of a sudden.

He told her of his childhood fascination with how things worked, wistfully remembering all the times he had curiously chased bugs and beetles around his back yard.

And one story lead to another, and her interest remained unfailing, encouraging him with smiles and small responses, and eventually he was able to recount a wonderfully funny story about his tarantula Stevie getting loose in the Lab, and resurfacing at the most inopportune moment, right when the Sherriff had been reaming him about a case, making the Sherriff in question scream like a girl, and he had made her laugh, that delightful chuckle filling the garden.

Ripples of delight floating in the air around them.

She was so beautiful.

When she laughed he felt it.

'It.'

Some yet unnameable feeling.

And he could think of nothing better than making her laugh as often as he could.

And the awkwardness faded into the background as they relaxed, night finally falling around them.

The trees along the street blossoming with tiny glimmering lights.

He threw the conversation back her way, conscious that he didn't want to spend all night talking about himself.

If in doubt rely on the good old cliché's.

"So, Sara, what do you do for fun?"

She considered his creditability for a few moments, sizing him up, before pointing towards him with her empty chopstick.

"I like eating out," she still eyed him warily as if this was a trick question, or one asking her to reveal too much of herself. "I like music, and books, I love books. And I really enjoy good conversation."

He smirked back at her, appreciating her natural wariness.

Riffing, "And this is nothing like good conversation," making her laugh again and shake her head at him tenderly.

They had such an easy rhythm when they got going.

"And what about you, what do you like?" she volleyed back.

He wiped his mouth on a napkin, gave himself a moment to decide. "I like catching Lepidoptera," he admitted, watching her smile at the mention of butterflies, she was probably imagining him rushing around like a mad man waving a huge butterfly net, "and I appreciate film noir."

"I like my job," she admitted.

And that he understood, "I love my job."

"And you seem to love lecturing too."

It was a comment not a question.

"Well it's a nice break, gives me chance to refresh my mind."

She pulled that smirk again, the one that was closer to a pout than smug and he found himself admitting that yes, he loved lecturing.

"It's selfish to keep knowledge to yourself. Wasteful." He joked. "Especially when you have good students."

He almost winked at her, but he restrained it at the last moment, and she actually pretended that she didn't know he was complimenting her.

"And you can always learn something," she added with a more serious lilt to her voice.

"So what did you learn from me?"

He was flirting again, smiling at her across the table, the warmth of the beer and good food buoying his stomach, he snuck the penultimate California Roll, nudging the last towards her with a smile.

And she began reeling him off, his own words from today's lecture tumbling breathlessly from her, echoing him right down to the phraseology.

And his mouth fell open.

Roll crumbling back into a pile of rice on his plate as he momentarily forgot he had it caught between his chopsticks.

Eidetic memory.

What did she do, tape everything he said?

And she was smiling again, teasing him.

"Does that make me your Star Pupil?"

Cheeky, he liked that too.

"Well, it awards you the last roll."

She nodded triumphant, and giddily proud of herself.

"Alright, so when you aren't working you like books, reading anything good?"

And that was the best question he had asked all night, she was not only a speed talker, but also a speed multi reader, juggling several books at once, and more than eager to tell him all about them.

And the conversation drifted pleasantly for a while, debating the merits of books they both enjoyed as they finished their food and drink and eventually came to the natural end of the meal and they ran out of excuses to remain.

He signalled the waiter for the check.

Insisting on paying, despite her offer, and he did leave an excellent tip, sliding it to the waiter when she hadexcused herself to the bathroom.

They reunited by the entrance to the restaurant, and spent a moment hovering side by side, quietly reluctant to part and conclude their time together, and in the end they began to amble along the main street, glancing into windows.

Putting off the inevitable.

"Do you have anywhere to be?"

He asked, as he wondered for the first time if there was anyone waiting for her at home, a boyfriend, roommate?

Hoping to learn that she didn't.

"No," she broke into a tempting smile, "but I've an idea of somewhere we could go if you have the time?"

Oh, he had the time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: San Francisco is not mine, Grissom and Sara are not mine, neither is the place they visit, or the people they meet, but they do exist!

**Author Notes:** I love the new option to add a picture for each story! This story itself was inspired by the picture I took (years ago now whilst on holiday) which is now attached to this story!

**Life Changing**

By Rianne

_Chapter Three._

He followed her, noting with faint amusement that her strides were measurably longer than his.

He found his gaze drifting to the slim striding limbs beneath her dress, before he snapped it back up.

Glancing quickly from side to side to make sure he hadn't been caught.

"Sara?" He liked the way her name sounded in the growing twilight. "Where are we going?"

She said nothing, merely throwing him a mysterious smile over the slope of her shoulder.

A smile that filled his head with a jumble of thoughts.

Was she taking him home?

Was she the kind of girl, wait, woman who did that?

She didn't seem like it, but he didn't really know her.

He watched her slightly swaying hips.

And he rationalised that it was only natural that he imagined her stretched out on his hotel bed, bare from the waist up, smiling at him, like that, over her shoulder.

He wanted.

But he shouldn't.

She was his student.

He shook himself, speeding up his footfalls, catching up with her.

But she was already stopping, reaching out for the heavy glass door in front of her.

He was so tied up in his thoughts he nearly stumbled into her.

Resisted using his arm around her waist to steady himself.

"We're here?" He questioned, his brain having to speed up to take in everything.

Surprised and somewhat guilty to find himself experiencing a pang; that this wasn't in fact where she lived, unless she lived in a store.

She was smiling again, eyes glittering with secrets he wanted to learn.

"We're here!"

She winked, actually winked, as they stepped inside.

Within was quiet, the rush of the outside world immediately gone.

The rich scent of paper, leather and knowledge was the first thing to envelope them.

It was one of his favourite scents in the world, which he knew most would consider odd.

Except in his peripheral vision he saw her breathe in deeply too, and release the air in a warmed contented sigh.

He only just managed to hide his near guttural reaction, the tightening in his gut sweet, barely able to withhold his secret delight at the recognition that somehow she already had an idea of what stirred him.

She leant back towards him, whispering, "this way," her voice soft and lilting in the quiet and as intriguing as all the shelves upon shelves of books before him.

Always in motion, never seeming to remain still for long, her moment's pause was over and off she meandered, weaving her way through the complex passages.

The books, shelved until there was no further space, had then been piled haphazard after that, creating a maze of pathways.

Intrigued by the place he followed her, tracing her footfalls, travelling through the genres.

He drifted dazedly. His attention bouncing from spine to spine, title to title. So many books calling out for closer inspection.

Some piles were crowned with foliage, ferns, and delicate spider plants. There were little strings of fairy lights scattered about to further illuminate. Throwing an ethereal glow over the rainbow of spines, catching fire in the gilt edging.

And still he followed, tempted further into the forest of fiction by the occasional backward glance she threw his way.

Making sure he was right behind her. Throwing out her hand in his direction when they came to a junction to guide him.

Her touch encouraged his continued pursuit, made his heart leap unbidden in his chest, surprised each time at the light brush of her fingers against the back of his hand.

She touched him this way, once, twice, three times.

It made his own fingers twitch to reach for her in return.

Was it accidental? Was it purposeful? The ambiguity made him hold back.

Watching her movements, admiring her vivacity and wondering that it wasn't completely impossible that she could teach him more about the world than he could acquire by reading every single book in this store.

They came across others, here and there, a staff member balancing a stack of Austen, an older gentleman who turned the spine away from their view as they glided past and he was almost sure was blushing.

They reached the depths of the store, turning what he guessed was left, somewhat dizzy from the convoluted pathway he had traversed in pursuit of her.

They could have been going anywhere, and if her earlier comments about being a female serial killer were anything but a clever joke...

Yet, still he followed her, coaxed to follow by those beseeching backward glances, her eyes gleaming in the fairy glow, and he helplessly stepped forward towards what could actually be his demise for all he knew.

Until before him she eventually stopped, and he saw her slide up to the older guy who stood vigil behind a small table doing inventory.

At a clearing of her throat, surprisingly loud in the reverent hush, the man's gaze lifted from his annotation.

He met Sara's gaze with recognition and a slow shake of his head.

"You know the opening times. We close at six." The man told her. Clearly familiar, she must be a regular.

She said nothing, merely lowered her chin, and he could guess the face she was pulling.

He saw the exact moment that the man gave in.

"I'm an enabler," the man muttered.

He saw her jaw lift as she gave the man a grin before as she turned her smile over to once again grace him.

"If you are found again, I had nothing to do with it." The other man told her.

She was grinning, nodding carelessly to the guy, literally bouncing on her heels.

Then with a purposeful, but light hand pulling on his arm, she began tugging him away, towards a doorway at the very back of the store.

The door opened into a stairwell, and together they climbed.

She had relinquished her hold on his arm, but the ghost of her touch it remained.

Only one floor, 13 steps in total, before coming to a doorway with a glass panel inscribed with the words _Antique and Rare Book Room_.

Below was a two sided hanging sign, with the '_Sorry we're closed – Try again soon_' side turned towards them.

He opened his mouth to question, but her hand was already on the door handle, and the darkness of the room beyond swallowed them.

A few more steps and he heard her lighter footfalls cease, he could hear himself breathing.

Waiting.

But for what?

Then the sweet warmth of her breath near his ear swept away all cognitive thought as she breathed, "Did you bring your flashlight Mr CSI?"

Her chuckle danced away into the darkness leaving him staggered.

Until she elaborately whispered, "ta da!" as a small light flicked on, a keychain with a Maglite, illuminating her face against the darkness.

She held it beneath her chin for just a second, angelic in its glow, before she turned it outwards gesturing towards the room.

"Welcome to book Nirvana."

Her voice was sultrier than he had ever heard.

He smiled slyly, not ready to give over to the gleeful just yet. Instead he, with a quick fumble within his pockets withdrew his very own, identical flashlight keychain and forced it into illumination.

"I never leave home without it," he confirmed in response to her mirroring sly smile. "Shall we?"

He moved forward, feeling something akin to real pleasure building inside him. He had longed to visit this holy grail of a purchasable collection, but his classes ran until after the room closed.

He wasn't a bender of many rules.

Her complete contrast.

Yet, look what pleasure her disobedience brought.

He took time to take stock.

Moving from place to place, intrigued by more items than his meagre budget could accommodate.

She followed him for a short while, leaning over his shoulder to peruse whatever he selected to be of interest.

He worked hard to try not to show how she affected him, but as he scanned a stanza of poetry he was utterly distracted by the faintest brush of her hair against his cheek as she leaned in to silently read the words before them; the light scent of her jasmine shampoo was still clinging to the strands.

He felt himself intimately stiffen.

His hold on the books spine became worryingly tight.

Eventually she drifted away and he was able to breathe again.

He moved on, scanning his little light around, as he purposely wandered, letting whatever this room had in store to draw him this way and that.

Yet, his light somehow kept finding its way to her, its wavering beam dancing over her.

Noticing that her pale dress became nearly translucent as it floated around her legs.

That her hair highlighted red in its ray.

Studying her, taking in the beauty of her expression and the dreamlike sway of her stature as she gazed longingly into one of the locked glass cabinets at the leather bound volumes within.

Trying to be discrete in his observations.

Watching her through a tome free gap in the bookshelf, the flashlight she carried throwing her expression into a glow, illuminating the faint trail of freckles across her nose and shoulders.

She shivered, sensing his gaze, looked up at him.

He froze, unable to hide that he had been watching her; too completely captivated by her image, framed as she was by the books.

Their curious gaze held a moment, she studying him as he drank in her, before she raised her brow, and they both looked away, smiles on their faces.

A little later his attention was drawn from the book before him to a light on the ceiling above his head, where her flashlight was blinking out a signal of some kind. A primitive Morse code.

When he moved through the room to find her, she had this look on her face. An expression he wanted instantly to preserve forever.

"I found your section," she whispered, unable to shatter the stillness.

Entomology.

And there on the shelf was the holy grail of entomology texts. His eyes recognised it immediately. A book he had sought for years, he reached out, lifting it from the shelf, with mesmerised fingers trembling.

It was wonderfully heavy in his palm, he carefully fluttered through it, enjoying the delicate paper pages annotated with full colour depictions, in fantastic condition despite its age.

The gleeful sensation made him feel alive.

The little boy within him wanted to hug her in delight, but the older man restrained.

It was fairly priced too, although to him it was priceless.

And so was the smile she bestowed upon him as he tried and failed to voice his pleasure at her bringing him here.

But that smile told him she knew, and she understood what he couldn't say.

He took another moment, unable to help looking over the book again.

Only distracted by the sudden realisation that the beam of her flashlight was no longer scanning books.

Did she just check out his ass?

When he turned, she merely blinked, the picture of innocence.

But he could see the grin withheld.

Unable to decide how he felt about that he led them back to the entrance, back to the safety of others.

Clutching his prize they left the room, not wishing to cause trouble by overstaying their welcome.

Knowing it might jeopardise her future secret visits.

Her sandals made light footfalls as they came back down the stairs, sliding back into the forest of fiction at the base.

He hid his grin as Sara saluted the staff member who had 'admitted' them access.

But they didn't leave yet.

Instead they continued to weave amongst the passageways.

Staying together this time.

Occasionally brushing shoulders.

He following her, she at times falling behind, and consequently following him.

Occasionally her long delicate fingertips would trail over a particular item.

He watched her touch caress the spines of books, mainly romance books, or little books of poetry, wondering.

Did the books she touched have hidden meaning?

Her favourites, her intrigues, her adorations?

Was she spelling out things, was she just tactile by nature?

He tried to keep up with the imperceptible codes, and failed hopelessly.

His eyes stumbling from text to the text, trying to decipher if there was a code he was missing.

If she was trying to tell him something, or just plain teasing his curious mind?

He realised that as he had so far completely underestimated her that anything was possible.

He was intrigued when she stopped short, rising up on his own toes to prevent a collision.

They had come to a secluded alcove in the furthest corner of the store.

But that was not what had brought her up short.

What had slowed her to a stop was the sight before her.

Wrapped up in one another, in this blissful little hiding place, was a couple.

Completely unaware that they had been discovered.

Snuggled together on the floor, the man leaning backwards against a shelf, the younger woman was curled into the shelter between his legs, reclining against his chest.

Both were lost in the otherworld of the books they read.

In complete simpatico.

He found his gaze drifting from the couple to Sara.

The truth was expressed so beautifully across her face.

Undeniably inscribed.

She wanted that.

A loved one.

Just like that.

To be held, to just be together in silence and be comfortable.

Her look was overflowing with longing.

He dropped his gaze back to the couple.

In the blink of an eye the couple before him transformed into he and Sara.

He couldn't have stopped the fantasy if he tried.

The desire was so intense, his heart throbbed.

He had known her scant days.

But he couldn't deny it.

He wanted that too.

With Sara.

He could feel the softness of her hair against his cheek as she breathed; the warm weight of her against his chest.

Until he realised that he really could feel her.

As he had been watching the couple, she had taken a step backward, trying to back away from the couple before they were disturbed and turned straight into him.

His free hand came up instinctively to steady her.

Capturing her waist.

Finding his body blocking the way she tilted her face up to find out why.

Her eyes were full.

So open and true.

Dark irises full of desire, fear, and dawning surprise.

His breath caught.

And hers did too.

Mesmerised.

They wavered there.

Her soft parted lips releasing breaths in little pants, which breezed against his mouth.

He was falling.

He didn't close his eyes.

Lips just barely brushing hers.

So brief it was almost imagined.

He felt her gasp.

Saw her eyelids lull.

Felt the rise of her chest in response, the warmth of her breasts.

He withdrew.

Forcing himself not to think.

She looked so bemused.

Blinked up at him.

And all he could do was faintly smile.

His heart racing.

Then hold up his book.

Whispering, "Where do I pay?"

**To Be Continued...**


End file.
